


Deflowering

by flugantamuso



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flugantamuso/pseuds/flugantamuso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Men kept coming in and feeling me up, checking my teeth. I tried to bite them, but they only laughed. You didn't try to touch me though, you just looked and smiled, and I hated you for that smile."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deflowering

  


Brad woke with a start, his muscles still tense with the memory of the dream. Schuldig, predictably, was sleeping like the dead. No consideration, thought Brad, and kicked him. It didn’t work, so he kicked him again, and Schuldig abruptly rolled over and pinned his leg, his eyes cracking open, frown of sleepy complaint on his face.

"Wake up," hissed Brad, "I’ve got to tell you about something."

"Can’ be tha’ impo’n" slurred Schuldig, clearly ready to fall asleep again the moment Brad gave him a moment’s peace.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. If he had to suffer the results of this dream then Schuldig damn well could as well. He pushed upwards, grinding a very interested part of his anatomy into Schuldig’s soft stomach.

That did the trick. Schuldig ground down automatically. He was still sleepy, the usual guile missing from his eyes, but he was certainly awake enough to participate. He pushed himself up, holding himself on his arms above Brad. When Brad pushed his hips up on Schuldig’s downthrust he threw his head back, gasping. Brad thought that his pale throat, stretched taut and framed by his wild hair, was one of the most beautiful things that he’d ever seen. When Schuldig spoke he had to force himself to pay attention.

"Tell—" Schuldig’s voice was sleep-rough, and he cleared his throat before continuing—"tell me what you need to."

"I had a dream, one you want to hear about."

"Oh?" Schuldig slowed his pace, and Brad had to bite his lip to keep a protest from escaping.

"You were a barbarian," he said, reaching up to wind a hand into Schuldig’s hair, "you wore furs, even though you didn’t seem to mind the cold. Your hair was oiled to keep it back, and you carried a weapon."

"A weapon," purred Schuldig, getting into it, "as big a weapon as this one?" he pushed down with deliberate slowness, letting Brad feel every inch of him.

"Oh yes," breathed Brad, "but I didn’t discover that until later."

"Later?"

"I was in the pens when you arrived. I’d been caught on a raid, hadn’t even had time to defend myself before I was surrounded. I was ashamed and angry. Men kept coming in and feeling me up, checking my teeth. I tried to bite them, but they only laughed. You didn’t try to touch me though, you just looked and smiled, and I hated you for that smile."

Schuldig’s breathing was growing heavier, but his arms were trembling, and Brad knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay where he was through the whole story. He rolled over, and Schuldig fell to his side with a curse as his arms were swept from under him. By the time he had rolled over Brad had a nipple in his mouth, and Schuldig had to pull him up by his hair to ask another question.

"What did you look like?"

"What?"

"What did you look like, in your dream?"

Brad had to think back. His looks had not been a particularly memorable part of the dream, but Schuldig needed an image, so he improvised. "I had longer hair, with feathers in it. They had tied my hands with rope. I was wearing leather leggings, and I had scars on my arms."

"What from?"

"I don’t remember."

Schuldig ran teasing fingers over his side down to his hip. "Tell me more."

I didn’t understand what language they were speaking, but it was obvious that two of them were arguing over something, and then you walked over and slapped one of them, and that seemed to make matters worse for a moment, and then they settled down. The three of you spoke in low voices, and then one of them was drawing his sword, and so were you, and there were more of them coming from all around, circling you, yelling, screaming."

Schuldig used both hands to part Crawford’s thighs, voice intent. "Don’t stop."

So Brad didn’t. "I could barely see from the pens, but it was obvious that the two of you were fighting. Once in a while I could see a flash from the blades, a bit of your red hair, just movement, really. The crowd kept getting louder and louder, and then it stopped, slowed down and drifted apart, and I could see that you had won the fight. You had blood all down your face and crusted over your furs. It made you look like a monster. You started coming toward me and I pushed against the back of the pen, afraid."

Schuldig made a kind of snarling noise, eyes hot and pushed his nose into Brad’s throat, teeth lightly skimming his collarbone. Brad shivered and clenched his fingers in the sheets.

"You came into the pen, and dragged me out by the rope. I struggled, but you just threw me to the ground."

The Schuldig in his arms made a soft crooning noise and lightened his touch, as if to make up for the actions of dream-Schuldig.

"I scrambled up and you took us to a tent."

Schuldig’s hands inched around to his backside. "Was it a nice tent?"

"Nice enough, I suppose, for a barbarian." Schuldig snorted against his throat. "Its distinguishing feature was the bed."

"Of course."

"It was a very nice bed."

Schuldig was grinning his insane grin, even as his fingers dipped lower. "Barbarians don’t have beds, Brad."

"Well, you did, and it’s a good thing, because otherwise my deflowering would have been very uncomfortable."

"Did you just say ‘deflowering?’"

"You don’t have any ground to call me on my language, especially when your fingers are pretty close to doing some deflowering of their own right now."

Right on cue Schuldig’s fingers burrowed deep and scissored. Brad let out a shaky breath and Schuldig kissed the side of his mouth. "Go on," he whispered, almost only vibrations.

"You tied me to the bed."

"I like that part."

"And took off your furs."

"Were you impressed?"

"Mostly I was just scared. You were pretty big, and uh, ready, and also still bloody."

"That’s kind of hot."

"You can’t be turned on by yourself, that’s just gross."

"It’s not the me, it’s the blood, and you and me and the blood."

"We have you and me and blood every day."

"Remind you to _deflower_ you on the scene of a kill during our next job."

"Remind me not to bring you along for our next job. We are _professionals_, Schuldig. Professionals do not rut while on duty."

"How about after duty?" said Schuldig, hooking his fingers up and making Brad incapable of answering for the next few seconds, too busy gasping into Schuldig’s armpit.

Finally he choked out "After duty would be _fine_."

Schuldig pushed on his leg and he took the hint, spreading and bending until he was curled up, knees to the sides of his ribs. Speaking from that position was difficult, but he managed.

"You pulled my legs apart and started pushing this goopy stuff into my ass."

"Goopy stuff?"

"You were a barbarian, Schuldig, you didn’t have scented lube. For all I know you were using lard."

"Eww."

"Whatever, I was just grateful that you were doing any preparing at all."

"Am I the big bad rapist, then?" said Schuldig, leaning his weight against Brad’s calves. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though, and Brad would cramp if he had to hold this position for very long.

He felt his mouth widening in a smile. Barbarian-Schuldig might be sexy as hell, but at times like these he was glad to have his own version. "Yes," he said, "so get on with it."

And Schuldig did.

  



End file.
